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She glides towards him, her bare body moving elegantly across the fathomless ocean, describing a perfect arc around the moonlight’s reflection on the azure surface.

He remains motionless, merely waiting. His body is as bare as hers on this warm summer night. The haste of unfulfilled lust burns bright within him, just as the memories of a thousand nights of shared passion linger inside her.

Even gods despair sometimes, he thinks, and a little smile draws upon his lips.

She notices, and stops. Looks at him, looks at that beautiful smile of his. How his lips crease up, how the soft lines of his face become somewhat deeper, and certainly more alluring.
Time has ceased to exist for the pair. They’re gods, after all, and gods and goddesses care not for such mundane things. In this place, and in this moment, only them and the moonlight truly matter.

She resumes her advance, and this time, it’s his turn to gaze at her.

She moves swiftly, effortlessly, her long, crimson red hair trailing behind like a thick veil. The dark, ochre tones of her skin shine with a beautiful golden hue tonight. The silver luminosity of the night imbues her body with a gorgeous, somewhat unearthly glow.

He moves for the first time, and raises his strong arms. He says ‘Up’ as he does this, and a thousand white doves fly up into the night. The birds briefly outline against the moon, and shadows dance and leap across her body as she approaches him.

‘A god’s whim, how remarkable,’ she says.

‘I could unhinge the stars if I so desired,’ he answers. ‘Yet, my desire is more focused tonight’.

‘A god’s desire.’

‘Indeed.’

He moves again, and they are so close to each other now that he can see her breasts rise and fall as she breathes the night air. She can now see his whole body, the hardness of his shaft barely concealed by the translucent waters. She smiles wryly.

‘A thousand years hence, we may be still bathing in these very waters. But tonight, all of you belongs to me, my Lord.’

‘Only lust is eternal. The wheel of fate spins endlessly, yet, all that truly matters is the desire in the heart of gods, just like it does on men. It is the engine of life. Rise.’

As he uttered this word, a pleasant tingling sensation enveloped her, and her body lifted off the water. It rose slowly, effortlessly, describing a beautiful ascending curve over the horizon. Water dripped from her legs, and as the goddess’ slender body soared, two dolphins jumped under her. The animals disappeared below just as suddenly as they had appeared.

She smiled as he drew her body towards him. She offered no resistance. Instead, she shook the excess water off her hair, and as she did, a myriad dragonflies materialized. A colourful kaleidoscope of light rose into the night, each of the insects shining with a different shiny hue.

‘I have party tricks of my own, my Lord.’

‘So I see.’

He also now rose, and met her body in mid-air. Their union was perfectly smooth. He entered all the way into her just as the luminosity from the dragonflies faded out. She moaned, long and true, and embraced him. Wrapping her legs around his waist she welcome him in deeper.

‘The power of a thousand orgasms shall fill you tonight. It is a God’s due to atone your body for an eternity of pleasure lost, vanished forever in the maelstrom of redemption.’

‘A God and a gentleman,’ she whispered, and gave fully into him.

The azure below turned deeper. Rising and falling sunlight would come and go. Aeons passed, and yet, a God’s passion is endless.

It ebbs and flows, a rushing cascade of unleashed emotions, a swirling maelstrom of unstoppable power. The first sting of lust is like a epiphany of the flesh, the revelation of an ancient power that roams the halls of a house made out of desire.

There is no denying when this force takes you over, when it grips and seizes your mind and soul. Its sheer kinetic energy fuels life, laying waste to morals and restrain.

From the eldritch shadows of me it emerges, a handsome vampire that needs to feed its thirst every night. An organic creature that breathes and lives on unspeakable fluids, old as time itself. Muscles and sinew and bone become an instrument of longing and desire, casting a different light on a world that most don’t see.

It is a restless beast, a sleeping giant that never slumbers, but lies awake, prowling the hallowed waterfalls of the mind, looking for her.

The soul becomes a vagabond, a nomad of the night, dancing without sleeping, breathing to the rhythm of a mystifying lover.

Then the soul touches down on a soft navel, and it glides, spreading its wings around, and lust awakens with a grinning howl. The connection is immediate, and the senses glisten and swell, and there is a slow dance that becomes a throe, and then there is blossoming screams that long for more.

There is heavy breathing at midnight, and the soul of lust sighs with bated anticipation, wielding its mighty power with the pride of a thousand thrusts. And then there is no self-control, once you give yourself to your own overriding want. And her own, and she’ll take what she wants and needs from you, in a candlelit ceremony of yielding sensuality. Once that soulful lust gives into temptation, the gates of Hades crash open, and a rush of wind underneath your skin blows the curtains sky high, and the fires that burn low turns into an inferno, and the mist of hesitation fades away, giving way to the power of the Gods, a power that shines as bright as the stars and knows no bounds.

The first kiss binds the energies, blood for lust, and lust for blood, and the words that are unspoken hang in between and fade away, melting into one another. There is heat, and there is untamed behavior. The zest for life uncoils from its own moorings and springs into overdrive, tangling itself in a communion of fire and flesh.

When your life is ruled by desire, where does the road to fulfillment end? When one’s existence is an endless sexual fantasy, how does one’s mind find rest and tranquility?

There is an energy that’s both vital and dark, and when it flows through you, every nerve ending and every pore secretes sin. And there is another side to us, isn’t there. A relic left behind by the heathen gods of sex and impurity, the lust and the ardor of long gone deities that guide the bodies of men and women as they fuck, playing with our bodies like wily puppeteers.

And what is sin, but the gift bestowed upon mankind to find out who they truly are. It is the tool to self-realization and freedom. Sin is the key that must turn twice before opening the portal to the other side of us, where the id slumbers, and breathes, and whispers things that feed off sin, and viceversa. The mind vicariously plays a tag game with darkness and the light, and in the realms of fantasy and devotion to the sinful reality, light does not always prevail.

So an obsidian night is inside of me, dark as a mother’s womb, and the force of arcane runes simmers right beneath my eyes, and in the heat of the moment, the puppeteers laugh and play their serpentine game of hide and fuck.
Desire is the bride in black, the maniac with a grin, and the ghost of your own fear. Desire speaks to you, sometimes loud enough to drown out the voice of reason and correctness. Desire takes you with the same impunity as an incubus fucks a sleeping female. Desire is the shadow that stalks your conscience, the mask that conceals the true face of your animal instinct. Desire is impish, and pitiless. It is cruel, too, for it strikes at any time, and the cravings are not always easily fulfilled.

There is a darkened room inside the id, a crawling space with only a sliver of clarity piercing its hollow. The animal instinct sits there, waiting. Not quite asleep, but not quite awake either. For some, it never rises. For some, the animal sleeps an unjust slumber, quietened by the aversion to reveal itself, its flame quenched by fear, and repression.

But others embrace its wicked charm, and absorb the power of its lure. The instinct awakens, breaking free of its moorings, and takes you over. And at that moment, the ties that bind your freedom are severed, and the beast is loose and ready to do your bidding.

There is no altruism in the beast’s intentions, nor there is pity, or a sliver of care. When those cabalistic instincts take over, the darker side of the id unsheathes its scepter of pleasure, and smites down anything in its path. Desire, as eternity itself, is relentless.

So the bride in black walks down the lingering shadows of the human body, ravaging men and women alike, for desire is not just the property of man.
And I’d rather laugh with the sinners than cry with the saints, as the song goes.

The aesthetics of sex are beautifully crafted by both the performers, and he or she who watches one, or a multitude of bodies evolve in the thrall of Eros. There is an innate and primordial savagery permeating every aspect of human sexuality.

It is a boundless and unique realm where the reality of the act transmogrifies into an almost beastly behavior, one where the male and female body become vessels for an aeons-old force and energy that feeds off desire and the lust of man and woman.

Good sex is a like a perfectly crafted and artful masterpiece; the timing, the engaging visuals, the lovers’ projected auras, and the satisfying outcome. All elements come together to express one, or more’s, will to attain a new state of heterogenous orgasm.

And there is plenty of dark facets surrounding the relentless pursuit of pleasure, too. With the With the relentless exploration of new boundaries comes the lust for ghouls, demons, and the blood that enables life. When the world of experience with human subjects reaches a critical threshold of boredom and commonality, the mind walks upon a gravelly path to another place, heading for a temple of mists and winds that whisper with the promise of sublime desolation. This is a place where the ghosts of long-dead witches sing you a lullaby and lovingly dab your brow with their wretched saliva when you lay down to sleep the long night away, dreaming of what is like to commune with a succubus. It is a place dotted with darkened alcoves overflowing with the fluids of those who came there before you. This asylum for the mariners of the flesh looms large just over the horizon of perception, hiding in plain sight within us all, yet few dare to look past the veil of society’s traditional values and conventions.

It is within this context of transformation and the evolution of desire that we come to discuss the art of Takato Yamamoto, a Japanese illustrator and painter whose art perfectly conveys the concepts hitherto exposed.
In many ways, Yamamoto’s art exemplifies the traditions of Japanese iconography, while also displaying references to classic manga and the historic artistry of shibari (Japanese bondage). This is an interesting point; the ropes braid the bodies of the living and the dead, and the latter feed off their control over the former.

Yamamoto’s craft is full of twisted eroticism and darkened and arcane sex that oozes rivers of spectral fluids. There is a soulful asymmetry of askew consequences; ghosts and the living dead fuck each other in a sick and yet fascinating cross-dimensional romance. Wraiths feast upon wet dreams of a still life, and Yamamoto’s vision is one of desire for inanimate liaisons.

It is a polarizing vision, for sure, as one either loves it or loathes it. But if one is willing to embrace and ride on the back of one’s pursuit for the ultimate experience beyond the field of conventionality, time spent in this world of mature death and evolutionary sex is well worth losing one’s grace for the sake of embracing darkness and the death of the old you.

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Events

The altar stood in the very center of the chamber. Four feet in height, it looked solemn, brooding, and pristine in its own darkly and striking irreverence.

Intricate tapestries woven in crimson and black velvet draped it in its entirety. They hung low, spilling onto the floor below and spreading around in no casual manner. Trinkets and junkets of indescribable origin lay scattered in odd but seemingly purposeful patterns around the altar. Here, an animal skull the colour of ivory; there, a furry thing which may have once been part of a living being, but now hung limply from a rusty chain. Whatever these things were, they possessed a palpable significance and purpose.

And flanking the altar on both sides, wooden statuettes of the Sired One stood guard, with forked tongues, slit eyes, and cloven hands that held the unnamable power of past and present in their grip. Heathen idols, perhaps, the legacy of a long since dead progeny. They stood still and silent, and yet, their agape mouths were forever frozen in the middle of a savage snarl.

At the dark altar’s foot, a pentagram had been drawn in chalk. Short, stocky black candles burned bright on each of its vertices, almost in timid respect of the altar’s throbbing power. A heavy, almost stifling atmosphere hung in the air. And it was hot, very hot.

And dwelling within the pentagram’s confines, a man and a woman sat cross-legged before one another. The male had a well defined, muscular body. A patch of dark hair right in between his pectoral muscles granted him an attractive, virile look. The female’s body was no less toned. Her skin was smooth and sun tanned, and as she breathed, her small breasts rose and fell in unison. Any man watching it would long to feel the heartbeat that kept those elegant breasts alive.

He wore a black studded leather thong, and she wore nothing but a leather collar around her neck. The pair concealed their identities with ornate decorations; he had a faun mask on him, with deep, blackened ridges, thin eyes and long, thin horns sprouting from it. The female wore a golden Egyptian mask, decorated with red trim, an oval-shaped jewel in the center, and long, narrow tassels the color of sunlight running all along its underside.

In complete silence, the man reached for a flask of bluish liquid set to his right. He dipped his right index finger into it, and the thick fluid seemed to react when disturbed. Long, bright filaments trailed the man’s fingers as he made a stirring motion inside the flask. Then, they vanished as he drew his finger out, leaving behind nothing but a ghostly luminosity.

He ran his finger across the woman’s bare chest, and where the fluid touched the skin, a streaked line appeared. She moaned, not in pain, but in pleasure.

‘The power of the Sire grants you this stygian delight,’ the man said as he carved a line parallel to the first one. His voice was deep, and somewhat intimidating. Yet, the female did not flinch. ‘These runes will bestow you primordial pleasure, and in return, you shall relinquish your body to the Sire.’ When the second line was finished, he drew a horizontal one across the two vertical ones. The female threw her head back and moaned loudly.

‘Do you relinquish your body?’

‘I do,’ she said almost in a whisper. ‘I do. I relinquish my physical being to be taken by the Sire.’

He dipped his finger into the fluid again, and once more those eldritch filaments appeared. Then, he began drawing semicircles around the female’s breasts, and whenever the fluid touched, a dark grey line appeared. The man’s finger had turned into an artist’s brush of sorts. Once imprinted on her skin, the lines became imbued with a faint organic glow, like a dull, throbbing luminosity. They appeared alive.

The man kept drawing lines all around the female’s body. Soon, her chest and back were entirely covered in throbbing streaks that emitted a palpable energy. She was enthralled, caught up in a trance of ancient pleasures. Her body swayed like a candle’s flame, and the lines on her skin pulsed in synchrony to this hypnotic dance.

The man stood up, genuflected before the altar, walked around it, and reached into an unseen space at the back. He took a small book, bound in red leather and inscripted with arcane runes and symbols. Then, he walked back to the pentagram and stood over the woman with the book open in his hands, as a priest would do before his congregation. When he spoke, he intoned his words in a solemn manner.

‘And He walketh upon this Earth before time itself was born, and He alone commanded the legions of darkness when light hath no voice. This is the word of He who reigns in a kingdom unseen.’
He turned the page.

‘In times past, a shepherd took his herd through a land barren and desolate, and in the winter blizzards, a quarter of his sheep perished, and a half of his fowl lost their yield. The shepherd lived in hunger and necessity, and in desperation, he called to Him to save the remainder of his herd, and to banish the perennial winter sleet. And He listened, and He acted upon the shepherd’s wish. The man’s lands became fertile again, and his herd thrived once more. But He always claims remittance, because his deed is final, and demands fair retribution.’
‘One night He called to the shepherd’s dwelling to ask for His requital. The shepherd protested, but He entertains no such whimsical lamentations. He took what it was rightfully His, and the shepherd’s daughter was called upon His side to join His choir. This is the word of He who reigns in a kingdom unseen.’

The markings on the woman now glowed harder than ever. She swayed and murmured, thralled, and enchanted.’

‘His herd is as large as it is loyal, and it is forever expanding. He takes this female unto His bosom, to fuck and to cherish and worship Him.’

Upon these words being uttered, the shadows came alive. There was a stir among the darkest recesses all around the chamber, and the atmosphere shifted.

Three men and three women emerged from the shadows, walking without haste. The men were clad in similar fashion, black leather thongs and red cloaks, and their forearms were decorated with long, black leather bracelets reaching up to their elbows. And they all wore the same faun masks.

Masks also dressed the females’ faces. They wore thongs and cloaks, and their bodies were bare chested. Their breasts were decorated with nipple chains that swung and sparkled as they walked.
All six carried an ornamental chalice in their hands. They walked towards the woman and formed a semicircle around her.

‘Tonight, on the eve of Baphomet’s Day, we turn this female over to Him,’ the man said. ‘ This woman shall join His conclave, in adoration and enslavement.’
‘This is the word of He who reigns in a kingdom unseen.’

The man closed the book and gently lay the woman’s body on the pentagram. The marks on her body continued to throb as he gently arranged her limbs around the burning candles, ensuring that her legs were wide apart. Her perfectly shaven pussy became was swollen with anticipation, and it glistened with oozing nectar.

Then, all men and women intoned these words at once: ‘His blood shall purify this woman’s body, for it is the life of all that is flesh. It shall wash and cleanse her soul, and she shall atone from the wantonness of her life prior to giving herself to Him. This is His word.’

They tilted the chalices. Thick, crimson blood began pouring on the female’s body. When the blood touched her skin, two things happened; she began writing and contorting, moaning as if in extreme ecstasy, as long tendrils of red fluid started to spread around her. And then, the lines carved on her body began throbbing harder, pulsing with an unnatural phosphorescence. Once emptied, the men and women held the chalices upright again, close to their bodies, and beheld the woman at their feet. Her body had now turned a deep shade of crimson, and her pussy oozed long strands of precum. The body became gripped in a paroxism of unnatural strong sexual desire.

‘Fuck me,’ she said, almost with a snarl. ‘Fuck my body until I scream and beg.’

The man who spoke first removed his thong, revealing a shaved cock with a powerful erection. He knelt beside her, held her legs open, and pushed his shaft inwards into the female’s pussy, reaching into her innermost recesses. She moaned loudly upon feeling his cock inside her body, and open her blood-soaked legs as wide as she could so she could be fucked unhindered. He began thrusting, deep and slow at first. She began kneading her own breasts, spreading blood everywhere. The sight of the bloodied female body being fucked was wild, raw, and fleshly obscene, and yet, it was imbued with an undeniably heathen sensuality that reached beyond men and women’s darkest fantasies.

Soon, the men joined. They shed their cloaks and thongs and turned their attention to the woman inside the pentagram.

First, three pairs of male hands began touching her body, feeling every inch of her bloodied and exposed body. Fingers entered her mouth, and she sucked and licked and took them deep into her throat as hands massaged and pinched her nipples. She moaned and groaned and opened herself to be fucked by all present. All male bodies loomed over her, and she sucked multiple cocks and relished their salty taste inside her mouth. Then, the men turned her body over and three of them fucked each and every one of her natural openings with unmatched eagerness, and all the while, the lines on her body glowed with primordial power and His blood coated the bodies of all participants. Soon, each and every body was dripping blood and sweat, and the men groaned as their cocks pierced her body, and she screamed as she came time and time again, feeling a carnal pleasure beyond her imagination.

As the orgy raged on, the women joined. Soon, eight bodies fucked each other on the pentagram. There was a swirling maelstrom of flesh and blood, an almost unimaginable vision of carnality and wanton fucking beside His altar. Men and women became fused into one another, and soon the room smelled of cum and lust, and the primordiality of such aroma spurred them to fuck even harder.

At the height of the bacchanal, as the crescendo of the human fucking reached the cusp of primordial savagery, the atmosphere inside the chamber shifted. A rift appeared among the darkened shadows behind the altar, and a low, preternatural roar broke the darkness. The revellers, caught in a throe of deep sexual trance, did not notice. Their bodies and minds were taken up my sheer desire, after all.

And as they fucked each other in every conceivable way and more, He materialized. His unseen kingdom became visible, peering through the shadows like a voyeur from the underworld. He watched, and He was satisfied with the scene before His yellow eyes. He listened to the pleasure of men and women, and He approved of such natural calling of the wild side. His bestial body loomed further into reality, and soon He stood at the altar, presiding over the proceedings. He raised his cloven hands high up in the air and murmured chants that were already millennia old when He was merely an infant in a dark and indecorous age.
His words echoed with a dark and ominous resonance across the chamber. Yet, they fed into the lust of man and woman, entering into their subconscious mind, commanding them to fuck into a new level for His satisfaction. Thus, He welcomed the bacchanalians into His bosom, and there and then He understood their acceptance of Him. Their combined sexual desire nourished his own ego, and He saw this was good. He bestowed His blessing unto them, and watched the women come like wild beasts and felt the powerful jets of male sperm shooting up every cavity that the females had to offer.

And when it was over, He nodded, pleased of their dedication to His deeds. All the females knelt and genuflected before Him, their bodies still glistening with the sweat of intense sexual activity. Cum oozed from each and their openings, dripping down their thighs and chins as they paid their respects to their Master and Owner. The men stood back, their heads bowed, and their hearts still beating fast and loud after the exertion. There was life and there was unlife within that chamber, and if any gods were watching, they’d blush and balk before His work.
He then hoisted every female by the neck unto his own shape, and with a tongue that grew unnaturally long He licked the entirety of their bodies. He tasted the very pheromones that those bodies gave off, the essence of their desire. One by one, He licked them all, he tongue fucked their pussy, probing shallow first, then deeper, seeking heat and warmth and cum. The women climaxed darkly for Him, their minds full of imagery that was both profane and forbidden, yet deeply arousing. And He saw this was good.

Then, sated, he receded into a darkness overcome that was both shelter, refuge, and lair.